


Illyria

by Steila



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 06, Angst, Dreams, F/M, Past Ned Stark-Freeform, Past Robb Stark -Freeform, Pre-Canon, Slight Canon-Divergence, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 00:36:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10231562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steila/pseuds/Steila
Summary: Illyria is the Kingdom of Death wherein the dead goes to dream.Title's inspiration based on Roger Zelazny's novel ‘ Isle Of Death'.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/gifts).



> I disclaim everything: the content of this work belongs to GRRM and HBO.

In the decreasing sunlight the Great Keep was a vast ghost of a place. Thin lines of fog left the wild grass shimmering, and the evening breeze blew over Winterfell in slow waves. As the castle came into sight across the Godswood, Jon wondered if he could conceal the huge grin on his face. The heat under his skin told him that it would be impossible for he was on his way back from another secret meeting with a lady.

Meetings that were only secret in name considering that Robb knew about it and, by extension, Theon did too. He could only guess that her friends also knew all about it.

In fact, that was what worried him. Everyone seemed to accept this new development with his lady friend too easily. Robb had encouraged him to pursue her, and Theon made some vile jokes that he refused to dwell upon. But in the end, the consensus was that he could be with Jeyne Poole.

So everything was going well at present. They would meet after his lessons with Maester Luwin, then take off to the Godswoods where they would spend long moments together conversing about this or that.

She was the one who carried these conversations in the Godswoods. He was too...impressed by this sudden proximity to let the right words reach his lips. She spoke of many things that made little sense to him yet filled him with merriment. The sound of her voice made his silence worth it.

She did not mind at all. It seemed that she enjoyed herself talking and enjoying the sight of him listening to her. What mattered the most was the moments spent together; she had said as much to him.

He'd learned many things about her on their evening trolls. Which colour she fancied the most, and which one favoured her colouring - green, she'd said. But Jon thought that warmer colours like red and sweet orange accentuated the brown of her hair. But he never thought to mention it to her. Jeyne liked watching snow fall early morning then watching the ground swallowing it at noon when the sun rose on its throne of clouds.

Jeyne liked her father's kisses on her forehead. She liked reading and sewing. She wasn't always good at it - not like Lady Sansa but she was trying to better her embroidery skills. Jeyne enjoyed music and singing, but she lamented the huskiness of her voice. That defect only came apparent when she had to train with Lady Sansa for their music lessons. Seldom did she get praises because his sister was always the best student. Indeed, Sansa's voice could bend lyrics and pepper sweet emotions around them in a way Jeyne could never reach with her natural lower voice. He had observed with compassion that Jeyne struggled with the impression of always being second best to Sansa.

She could best the other girls like Beth Cassel on her own, but Sansa Stark was always to be above her.

It was the way of things. He had told her. Some people are not born to stand higher than others. No matter how much you try to best them. Jon had tried to compete with Robb too much in the past, but it only brought misery and self-loathing. He was very observant and swift with his sword, and he knew how to read his opponent at arms moves before he executed them - but Robb could do the same thing with more grace and get better reactions from Ser Rodrik. With Maester Luwin they shared their appreciation for books and history, he was attentive and always complied to his homework even when Robb preferred visiting Winter Town instead of working on his lessons.

But his brother would come back with the same results as him even though he had dedicated less time to craft his work. It was hopeless. His base parentage did not help to sustain that feeling either.

But Jon had learned with time that Robb was no rival of his. His brother was willing to share his praises and compliments. He included him in everything they were to learn and even acknowledged his efforts in the training yard. He was only hoping that Lady Sansa was as careful with Jeyne's feelings as Robb was with him.

Sharing those insecurities with Jeyne this afternoon had changed the awkwardly maintained bond between them. Finally, he'd felt close to her without touching her. Enthralled by that discovery, he'd leant in to kiss her lips. It was a simple brushing of lips on lips, but the sensation was heavenly. And when she'd kissed him back tentatively, he was long gone.

He made his way through the grass thinking about that moment again.

As Jon reached the courtyard, a dank chill crept through his bones. He stood for a moment in the evening quiet of the yard. Everyone was either bathing and preparing for supper. Yet he sensed a presence watching him in the growing darkness. He swung around, searching the dim shrine to discover who could be there.

Jon caught his breath and jumped back a pace. At the far end of the tower above him, a red outline loomed against a window. It watched him. He could feel it.

Jon let out a nervous laugh, pushing back a few loose strands of his hair, gathering himself together. It was only Sansa. At least, that's all it was. He had nothing to fear from her.

Yet he could not control the scroll of worry that shook him a when he thought of the many times he'd caught her watching him these days. It always happened after his trolls with Jeyne.  
She always knew when he came back and in seemed to know what state he was in. If only he could talk to her freely without fearing Septa Mordane's recriminations or Lady Catelyn's scolding, he would like to ask her what was it that she wanted.

Sansa. She was the only sibling that he was not close to. Yet lately it was as though that fact did not stand. He had learned so much about her from Jeyne. What his lady friend liked talking about beside herself, was Sansa.

He knew that Sansa was quiet, reserved and very well-mannered. But Jeyne had insisted that it was only a façade. "She likes to create mystery around her. She fancies herself as a princess, but we all know that they are all just dreams. There is no prince in the North. She cannot be a princess,” Jeyne had explained with a mocking snort.

He had felt uneasiness creeping through him from that comment. To him, Sansa was the closest thing he'd seen of a Princess, the one from the stories his siblings fancied. She was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen so far. Not pretty like Arya or Jeyne, but pretty in the way that could move the soul. He did not have to focus on her features to note what reinforced her beauty. Sansa was a fact of beauty.

But she was also cold and distant. It was hard to appreciate her qualities when she always kept it hidden to him. He knew from Robb that her laughter wore the sweetest carillon of birds.  
Her favourite color was purple. She liked drawing and her handwriting could rival with the greatest scriptwriter of Winterfell.

He could not blame her for her careful distance that had kept from him since her sixth nameday. He knew that she was too much of a lady to entertain a bastard - even if said bastard was her half-brother. He was already lucky that most of his siblings did not hold it against him. He could not ask for more.

Yet these days he could not stop but wonder about her and those distant glances she lavished him with. Even now that his eyes were searching hers she was not hiding. She wanted him to know that she was watching. Then she turned abruptly and went back into the castle.

Perhaps she knew of his friendship with Jeyne and did not like it? After all, Jeyne Poole was her closest companion in Winterfell, maybe she objected to her friendship with a bastard.

Jon wondered about her again until he reached his quarters. He could no longer remember the kiss with the figure of his unattainable sister looming over his spirit.

That night after supper father had gathered him, Robb, and Bran, in his office to announce that he will need them to come with him on his trips to the eastern lands of the Gift. His Lord was restoring the abandoned holdfasts at the New Gifts in the aim to raise new lords and settle them in those lands.

"Winterfell might be small but it is a part of a bigger scheme. The North has the biggest lands existing in the realm and each one of you will have a place to hold one day. But first you will need to learn how to rebuild and cherish what is already yours," Father had explained.  
His father words were as sombre and cryptic as anything else he had said about his children's foreseeable future beside Robb's.

But from the little Jon could grasp, Father wanted each one of them to own land. Maybe his future was not as uncertain as he as always dreaded. Winterfell was Robb's to hold in their father's name, but maybe there would be a place for him too one day.

That night his bed felt too small and for some reasons. He could not sleep while his mind raced with the possibilities. He could see his future as clearly as the water in hot spring now. Father will allow him to have a good life - maybe marry a good lady and spend the rest of his life in one of the settlements he was rebuilding.

He tried to dredge up an image of a life as The Lord in the New Gifts, the eerie dance of light upon its arches of a castle of his own; he tried to recall Jeyne's voice, laughing, and imagine her hands on his and not his own.

But it didn't work, any of it. He was alone. The room was silent and dark. He could no more fill it with Jeyne's face or voice or touch than he could fill it with snow or rain.

He shivered. He felt light-headed and shaken, as when he first saw Sansa looking upon him perched on her tower. He stared at the dark ceiling until his eyes became heavy then he fell into restless slumber.

He dreamed of a faceless lady who loved him and gave him children: two little girls and three little boys with his sibling's names.

A beautiful red haired lady, her voice was the sweetest and her love unwavering. He dreamed of long walks in the snow with that woman, his hand placed behind the red velvet of her dress, caressing her auburn curls. She raised her arms and spoke in some language he had never heard before. Her voice echoed through his mind. A deep, still serenity slowly settled over him, warm and comforting, lulling his heart. There was a gentle tugging at his chest, his soul itching to depart, to reach hers.

He woke the next morning with the searing memory of a dream he could not decipher. He walked Ghost to the Godswoods to pray after he'd broke his fast with the stable boys.

On their way into the snow-covered wood, he started hearing voices in the distance. He stopped on his track when he recognised that high pitched laughter.

It was Jeyne!

He smiled but he could not take another step. He did not dare. For Jeyne was not alone, she was with Lady Sansa in what seemed a private conversation.  
He stared at his pup who was squirming in his arms like a newborn calf. Ghost had scented Lady and he wanted to go to her. But that could not be. He would have no excuse to hide from the girls if his pup went trotting to his favourite littermate.

"Jon he is a pretty boy."

He stopped on his track again. Unable to move after that one. They were conversing about him.

He knew it to be improper to eavesdrop on ladies conversions. But was that improper when he was the main topic of said conversation?

Curiosity taking the best of him, he placed himself behind a tree, barely concealing the heat that arose under his skin triggered by his alarmed heartbeat.

"He likes you." said another voice, sweet and soothing. He recognised it as his sister's voice.

"That I know. He'd made my endeavour so easy with his gentleness. Now Robb has finally noticed me,” Jeyne said with a little humour in her voice.

Jon frowned behind the tree. Robb? Why was this about his brother? What was she talking about?

“What I meant is that he really likes you."

"How do you know that?" Jon could hear the little flinch in Jeyne's voice. He knew that his sister's words had displeased her.

"I just know it. I've only seen him smile when he is with Arya or Robb. And even then it doesn't happen often. You make him smile...a lot."

"Oh, he makes me smile too. Sometimes." He heard some muffling of dresses. " But I was speaking of Robb. Do you know what he told me last night after supper? He said he liked my new dress. The one that I've made myself with purple embroideries."

"Did he say that?"

"No, but he noticed that it was a new one. I'm guessing it's better than nothing. And everytime I come back from my walk with you bastard brother, Robb flashes a smile my way."

At those words, Jon stood frozen to the ground and he could not move even if he'd wanted to.  
For some reason, he could not make sense of what Jeyne and his sister were talking about even though their words were clear. He just denied the meaning of the words. They were shattering his now almost perfect and centered life. And the way she'd referred to him as a bastard with so much disdain struck him in the heart, but he did not feel the familiar pain and indignation that comes every time someone reminds him of his low upbringing. He felt nothing…

"Jon he might be a bastard but It's not fair to treat him as such when you are obviously still aiming for Robb,” Sansa said.

"Why are you saying this when you are the one who told me to do it?”

"I did not advocate for such behaviour from you,” Sansa said. “I don't even remember speaking to you about my half brother."

"You told me that the best way to garner Robb's attention was to meet him in his area of interest. "

"Please tell me how those words brought you into this subterfuge? "

"Well, I tried to find his area of interest but besides taking lessons with Maester Luwin and training in the yard Beth's father, there was his friendship with Theon and Jon. I had a limited choice."

" Why did you choose Jon? You could have had Theon. I'm sure he wouldn't be vexed by your subterfuges."

"No...Theon is just too...straightforward. It wouldn't be safe to get close to him. Your brother is gentle and nice. He made it easy."

"He likes you…"

"Please, could you stop repeating it that way?" Jeyne's voice held a tendril of annoyance.

"What way?"

"Like it's wrong..like I'm doing something wrong. We are only friends. I did not return his feelings nor encourage it."

"You know it's not true. Septa Mordane taught us the other day that being a Lady included the ability to present ourselves with the best behaviours and respect towards our kins. You obviously forgot your lessons."

"You don't even speak to him and always keep your distance. Who are you to speak of respecting his feelings when you ignore him all the time?" Jeyne snapped.

"What? This...this is not about me. Just because I don't talk to him all the time does not mean I harbour hard feelings in his regards."

"Then do not make me feel as though I wronged him."

"You know Robb is meant to marry a woman from the other Houses. He is meant to make a political match for the North. Maybe a lady like Alys Karstarks or one of those twin ladies from House Tallhart the ones who visited Winterfell a few moons ago."

"He will be the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of The North; he would get to choose his wife if he so wishes. I could...I could be that Lady."

"Or you could be Jon's lady."

"Ladies don't marry bastards."

"That's true. Poor Jon, he should spend more time in the kitchens, there he’ll find his mate," Sansa said airily.

Jeyne laughed and his sister joined her too after a moment of hesitation.

Jon knew he had to move and go back to The Keep. But he could not summon his muscles to obey.

Then he'd heard the shuffling of a dress and steps crushing the snowy ground. He lifted his head abruptly and met shimmering blue eyes.

He knew then, even before she said the words. The dread settled in his stomach like a piece of cold fat. Sansa's eyes widened and pink mounted on her alabaster cheeks. He saw her mouth opening to speak but she could not find the words. He saw remorse cloud her clear blue eyes, washing over the deceit that was deep-seated in there. She wore a pained expression.

"Jon...it's not what you think...I-I did not mean what I said...I did." As Sansa said the words, Jon moved away from the tree. But he just stared at her. He felt only numb. Besides, what was the point of raging? It detracted him from his dignity and served no useful purpose.

But something inside him died. It turned black and curled under the cold touch of Jeyne's words of deceit. It was not just that she had betrayed him. What was new in that? People treated him poorly constantly. But how squalid!

At the very moment, she and Sansa were crafting this ignoble subterfuge, he was thinking about a future with her.

And Sansa. His own sister was in cahoots with her.

He knew what Sansa was like; the whole Winterfell knew what his sister was like. He even told himself he could stand it when she ignored him all the time and reverted all her attention to Robb, even when he was standing right next to her. But did everything that they shared as kin mean so little to her that she could betray him so casually?

"Jon I'm sorry. There is an explanation behind what you think you've heard …" she stuttered. She followed him, her hands spreading forward as if she wanted to hold him close.

Dear Gods, he had been a fool!

Not stopping to think, he bolted across the Godswoods - ran back to the castle - until he reached the entrance of his bedchamber. But there he paused, he could not hide there forever. He will have to face Jeyne, Sansa, or worse, Robb, sooner or late.

It was too much to handle for now.

That night he could barely stand to sit next to his siblings. He felt the invisible gap that kept Lady Catelyn's true born children above him widening exponentially. He gladly joined the stewards' boys table and ate in their company. He made sure to avoid his sister's silent pleading. And when he saw her standing in front of his bedchamber, fidgeting in her wait for him, he hid in a shadowed corner - until she grew tired and retired to her quarter. As of Jeyne, she came running to him with words of apologies the next afternoon but he'd ignored her.

The following days happened under the same circumstances with his mood dancing from one extreme to another. From the most ravaging anger at the betrayal to a crushing shame.  
He was ashamed of being the object of such play between two kids.

His shame was so great that he avoided everyone. He feigned some illness to skip his lessons with Ser Rodrik and made sure to avoid talking to Robb during and after their lessons with Maester Luwin.

His brother being the perspicacious creature he was, did not take long to catch up on what was troubling him. So he came to his bedchamber the fourth night with a mug of watered cocoa syrup that he stole from the kitchen.

"I knew Jeyne was entertaining the idea of a friendship between us since she was younger than Arya, but I thought she was way past that. Why would she think that a tasteless act like that would work?"

Jon gulped the beverage to avoid the question. Now he had to listen to Robb apologising to him for being the better brother, the one all the ladies were swooning over.

What a shame!

"I'm sorry that you were placed in that awkward situation. Sansa came to me and explained everything. She is really sorry for what happened."

Jon felt his insides tightening at the mere mention of Sansa. He could not stand the sight of her. She had tried many times to talk to him but he always left the conversations before it even got to start. When those attempts failed, she had resorted to writing to him. He'd already received three letters written by her - wherein she explained how desolate she felt.  
Jon had only shrugged at her pathetic attempt to mend something that was not meant to be. He carried her letters with him all time and he would read it every time he felt his anger leaving him. He needed to hold on to that otherwise, he would only be left with the shame.

"Is she sorry because she was caught or sorry because of what she did?” Jon asked.

Robb made a sound from his throat and shook his head. "She is mortified at the idea of having hurt you. You know how Sansa is, she could not hurt a fly without shedding tears."

"Well that did not prevent her and her lady friend to do what they did." he rolled his eyes. Was he supposed to care that she was crippled with guilt and hurting? No, she should feel the pain the same way he was suffering.

"You know what I think? Your anger is misplaced. You gave Little Jeyne no reactions and let me scold her for you, yet Sansa is the only one who is at the receiving end of your anger."

"I'm not cross with her nor angry for that matter. I just don't wish to rehearse what happened."

"Then speak to her!" Robb exclaimed and reached for the mug, he snatched it from his grip with a smirk. " At least make sure to return her letters or she won't stop writing to you." He chuckled.

Jon frowned. How did Robb know about the letters? He thought It to be something just between Sansa and him, yet he had to share that with Robb too.

"Tell her to stop writing. It's all right now...I guess."

"Good! She'll like to hear that."

And he had been right. Because in the following days Sansa did not send letters but he could always feel her gaze on him whenever he was walking about the castle. And when their gaze would lock together she would smile at him.

His only response was a scowl and a frown.

Why was she trying to be nice to him now?

But he could not deny the perverse pleasure he had garnered from that little switch in his dynamic with Sansa. It was as though he knew the way to get to her. The same way she ignored him all those years and how greatly he had been affected by it, he could do the same to her now. And affected she was. Every time she would try to approach him during his moments with Arya, he would pretend that she wasn't there. It was only satisfying for a moment, though. For the look of resignation on her face and the sadness it carried did not let him unaffected. Yet the pleasure did not cease to tease him because no matter how much he avoided her, she always found herself in his path, eager and willing to mend their broken kinship.

 

One night when he was assigned to help his father's study work, he tried to get the answers he desperately needed.

In fourteen nights, their travel to the New Gift would take place. Jon wanted to know if one of those new settlements was meant for him. Father was sitting at his desk staring at the construction imprints and explaining to him what will need to be done in order to move people in that area of the North.

Jon waited for him to finish his explanations, noting with annoyance that his copy of the Winter Kingdom hung slightly crooked on the wall behind him. He had warned the maids repeatedly about dusting that map. They were to leave it to him or Robb or Lady Catelyn. The map was far too valuable to be handled by maids. It had been in their family since the first Winter King. Father would have been better advised to keep it locked in a chest rather than exposed to air and dust and the covetous eyes of others.

"Father...I meant to ask about the new settlements and the Lords that are meant to hold them in your name,” he started and he already knew by his father's sudden erect bearing that the scale was about to tip.

What is it, son?”

"Amongst the Lord who will be raised and placed in that area..am I...are you...Mayhaps thinking about me?"

He waited.

Father cleared his throat. He looked at Jon, his hands steepled in front of his mouth, then seemed to come to a decision. "House Cassel and House Poole are the only ones considered to occupy the New Gift. They have been with me for the longest, without a proper seat. It will be theirs."

Jon started leaning towards him, fists clenched in his lap, shoulders hunched. Jon's eyes raked his father's' face to see if he really meant it. Perhaps this was some elaborate test of his loyalty. He was a bastard, after all, he had to prove his worth.

"Of course,” he said calmly. " The Gift is a very large land. It would make sense for both House Cassel and House Poole to hold the eastern area next to the Shivering Sea. Then that leaves the western regions."

"Those regions will remain under the protection of The Watch."

Once again he felt that fear of the unknown that had trickled between his shoulder blades. Ten years ago in the nursery, he listened to Father and his lady wife arguing about the mother he never knew and his base parentage. He had not, he realised, ever been afraid since, not truly afraid. Until now, and now he was too old simply to pull his pillow over his ears.

"What about me?" His voice surprised him, so calm and steady despite the anger beginning to seethe inside.

"Listen to me, son. You are seven and ten old. If the circumstances were different you would likely be married by now and owner of your own keep. But they aren't, and I want you by my side. I have to consider your future. There is no one else to do it."

" And what is that future?"

" Your place is here in Winterfell next to your brothers and sisters until we find them convenable matches."

" Winterfell is Robb's. I have no role to play being the second-best son, the bastard son with no use. I'd rather take the Black than stay here to be the keeper of my brothers and their legacy." Those words rushed out of him with urgency. The silence that cut between them bled him with confusion...

He shouldn't have let his anger surface, he should have spoken to his father with more respect. He deserved to be banished and scolded. Yet the remorse wasn't there. He did not regret his outburst of anger. He needed Father to know how hard it had been for him.  
He held his breath. He waited for the roof to cave in. He could not look at his father, but he heard the wincing intake of breath, as though he had cut his finger or stubbed his toe.

"Do you think it has been easy for me, all these years," his father said quietly, "watching you grow up, becoming more and more like her? Because you are, you know, despite everything."

He was battling against a wall of emotions that transcended him. His father never spoke of the woman that birthed him. A woman that he clearly loved, going by the sound of his voice when he mentioned her.

He felt his throat tightening with regrets and tears flooding his eyes. " Father…"

What to say? What was it he needed to say to this man who was both his salvation and damnation? Father had treated him like his trueborn son and he was always protective of him. Yet he was also the reason why there will always be a carmine sign on his existence, separating him from the other Starks. He was a Snow because father broke his wedding oath.

"Believe me, Jon, if your mother was here she would support me in this. Use your advantage; stay close to your siblings wherein you are the strongest together."

A war raged inside him. On one hand, Father was asking him to give up on his dreams for a life that will wound his ego endlessly, and on the other hand, Father had proved to him again that he cared about him.

I want you to stay by my side, son.

"You may take the rest of the week to think if you wish to not come alongside us in the journey to the Gift. I would understand," Father conceded with a tight smile.

"I will do as you ask, my Lord." He was suddenly certain, almost as though someone had whispered it in his ear, that he was not destined to live and die here in Winterfell.He had to find his own path and let Robb keep his. He would take the Black and never come back.

He stood and awaited his permission to leave.

"I know how brave you are, your brother will need you by his side," he said, kneading his forehead with his fingers,

"Father?" Jon said, stopping next to the door. "What was her name?"

"I do not wish to talk about her."

Jon nodded. He understood father was hurting, too, over her loss. Closing the door softly behind him, Jon left him to his secrets.

He wandered about the castle with tears in his eyes. He thought about joining Robb and Arya in the courtyard where they were playing to distract his mind, but he could not do so.

His hollow wandering led him to the service quarters where the maids and the stable boys held a little gathering. He stood in front of the room and watched them drinking, laughing and clapping their hands to the sounds of flutes.

Jon wondered what Lady Catelyn would do if she knew what these lads did behind her watchful back. When one of the lads noticed him, the music stopped and they all stared at him with fright. Despite his status, he was still the Lord's son and therefore he could take it to his hands to punish them. But Jon had no thought for such thing.

He laughed and joined their little celebration.

It was the nameday of a lass named Dorcas - she was responsible for the laundry service - and since her twin had died last moon, her friends thought it appropriate to cheer her up in that fashion.

Jon drank the strange beverage thy served to him, and he laughed at the stories the lads shared. Some were crude and highly inappropriate and others were heartbreaking.

He should spend more time in the kitchens, he thought. Maybe Sansa had been right after all. Here they all treated him like a prince and they did their best to entertain him.

When he could not handle the drinks anymore he trotted back to his quarters, but somehow it became impossible to locate it. His wandering led him to the Great Hall. He was about to rush past it until he saw Robb standing next to Jeyne. She had her hand on his shoulder and her sparkling amber eyes glued on him.

Robb smiled and kissed her hand. He moved away from her then stopped. The wide look of surprise plastered on his face told Jon that his presence had been noticed. So, Jon walked away with urgency. He felt blood rushing under his skin.

“Jon! Wait! It's not what you think!" Robb had reached him somehow and held him against the wall.

Jon wanted to say something mean to upset him or hit him in the head to mess that perfect posture of his. Oh, how he hated that stupid auburn curl that hung on his forehead.

Yet his limbs could not move. He could feel adrenaline racing in in his veins yet his body was heavier. What in the bloody hell did he drink?

"She was only asking for forgiveness again. It is not what you think," Robb insisted.

Jon shook his head and regretted it. His vision blurred for a moment. "Let me go." He pushed his brother and started walking away in the dimly lighted corridor.

"You can't just walk away to brood! Snow, come back here!" Robb shouted and walked to him again.

"I'm not doing this!" Jon breathed. "If you want to ease your conscience go do it somewhere else. Or you could go back to amuse Jeyne."

Robb growled with annoyance. “There it is! You blame me because she wants me!"

Jon's head snapped back so fast he almost fainted. "I did not say that!"

"Then what is your problem?"

"Go back there Robb, leave me alone," he almost pleaded.

"It's not my fault that you are who are and I am who I am," Robb said slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. It's not my fault that ladies don't want you. You need to reconcile with the idea of…"

Jon’s hand moved on its own accord and grabbed his brother's collar. " Fuck you!" he spat and pushed him off of him. Robb swayed but he did not fight back.

Fuck him! Fuck him!

Even in his slowed mind, he knew that Robb wasn't entirely to blame for his torment, but it did not matter. He grew more and more frustrated when his feet kept leading him to every place but his own bedchamber. Jon got so lost in the maze of corridors that he ended up in the crypt.

He growled when the scent of earth and cold stones crept Into his nostrils. He was about to walk away but the tightness in chest grew heavy. His head spun, his feet shook under him, and he had to cling to the wall to support his weight. Sprawled on the cold floor, Jon contemplated what was happening to him when he saw a figure next to Lyanna Stark's statue.

"Sansa?"

Startled, she turned around with a little squeak.

"Oh, Jon it's just you!"

Like a bewitched sleepwalker, he found himself on his feet again as he made his way down to the statue.

"You must be wondering why I'm here," she said

No, he wasn't. His head was still spinning around with confusing thoughts. He did not care about her. He should walk away for that matter, but he stood frozen in front her.

Slowly, with the grace of an uncoiling serpent, she walked to him and extended her hand to him. Her hand carried a cluster of shiny pearls.

 

"I was in mother's solar. I found her old jewelry box and I tried them on just for..fun. Then Rickon came running into the room like a bull and startled me. In my haste to get rid of the necklace before someone saw it, I broke it"

Jon shook his head. He didn't care. Her mother worshiped the ground she walked on so much that this offending act wouldn't put her in trouble. If it had been Arya, the outcome would have been different. But it was just Perfect Lady Sansa. She would be fine.

"I panicked so I came here to try and fix it where no one could see. But It's not working," she exclaimed with desperation. "What am I to do if Mother finds out?"

Jon watched her then. Her eyes, so bright and clear in the darkness of the place, sizzled with intensity beneath the veil of her long eyelashes. Her magnetism radiated across the crypt. For a moment Jon forgot to breathe.

She was pretty! He'd always known it.

Jon remembered the talks with the lads earlier. They'd laughed while comparing the taste of the girls they had intercourse with. He wondered if Sansa's cunt tasted sweet under her shifts.

"Jon, you think you could help me?" She looked and sounded so kind now. He would do anything to hear her to talk to him and look at him this way.

As he became more alert, some clarity of thought returned, a part of his brain rebelled. This was Lady Sansa. All of it was an elaborate charade, with him serving as a pawn, in another game orchestrated by Jeyne Poole. Anger returned and obliterated his sexual hunger. It was Sansa's fault. All of this was her fault.

"Why couldn't you just leave it alone, Sansa?" He felt like he might cry, but he shook his head, tamping down the pain and letting the anger flare.

"What?" She looked genuinely surprised.

"Why would you meddle? Why would you shoot your mouth off?"

"Jon…"

"You should have just left it alone. No one asked you to interfere in my life. I liked it just fine when you were haughty and you thought you were too good to talk to a bastard."

He saw her eyes widening while her mind scrambled wildly to make sense of what he was saying.

If this is about Jeyne I already explained everything in my letters. Have you read them?" she asked, then took a few steps back.

"I always knew that I wouldn't marry a good woman nor have the life you or your siblings will have because of my status. I always knew it." His jaw clenched so tightly it drew pain. “But I didn't want you to know. I didn't want anyone to know. Who the fuck wants everyone to know that he's a bloody woman repellant?"

"Oh…oh, Jon. I didn't know--"

He cut her off. "I hope you and Jeyne enjoyed yourself, making a jest at my expense. I hope you enjoyed it, Sansa. I hope it was worth it."

He was advancing on her and she backed up a step in return. Her eyes went from his frame to the entry of the crypt behind him. She wanted to run. He wouldn't stop her, but he dared her to try.

"You're not a woman repellent," she said to him. Her voice was soft and meek and her hands twisted together with nerves.

"Be quiet, Sansa," he growled and pushed her against the wall. She gasped and sobbed a little.

He took another step toward her until he trapped her against the wall. Every movement was performed with anger. Every breath was exhaled with frustration.

"I'm so sorry, Jon."

"I heard the things you said in the Godswoods. I want you to say it again. To my face."

Her throat went tight and she fisted her hands against her dress. She gave him a surprised glance and when their eyes met, and she saw the true anger there. "No...I don't remember."

"So you want to test me?" he spat just a few inches from her face.

"Jon. Stop this. Stop it now or I will tell mother and everyone. You will be in trouble."

He laughed loudly. It was a rash and humorless laugh. He just wanted to scare her but she was intent on fighting back.

"Father wants me by his side."

She shot him with a glare of anger, fear, and confusion. But Jon could see something else in there too. It was as though she was sorry for him.

 

_You know how Sansa is, she could not hurt a fly without shedding tears._

 

"So let me remind you exactly what you said to your friend." He pressed his body against hers, sneaking his head against hers. She let out a shriek but her body froze against his. Jon inhaled her rose scented copper hair then pressed his lips against the soft skin of her ear.

Their eyes locked for one moment when he moved his head from hers. Her sapphire eyes were glazed over in a heated trance of fear and anger, her head thrown back in surrender, unbound hair falling in loose waves to her shoulders. They moved with every panting breath that escaped her parted lips.

With that lasting image of her in his mind, Jon lunged forward and pressed his lips to hers.  
She gasped and screamed into his mouth but he did not let go. He pressed harder against her pliant lips.

He felt her fist open and release the pearls.

They flew and danced all over the hard ground.

Her free hand moved to push his shoulder to shove him away. She punched and pushed against him.

Without freeing his lips, he moved instinctively. He took her wrists in his hands, squeezing just enough to make her flinch, but no more. He pinned them on the wall above her head. She moved her head to the side then but he captured her lips again. He groaned as the mere contact of their lips brought him so much pleasure he couldn't contain it.

When she parted her lips on a gasp, he stroked her tongue with his own while she remained still, merely taking his attentions.He started kissing the salt on her cheeks, jaw and chin. He could feel tears spurting out of his eyes and the wetness drenching her face. He did not know which one of them was crying, nor why. For this felt too good. He felt a rush - his body trapped with desire, his manhood growing heavy in his tight breeches.

He was starved for this. This felt so... right. With a moan, he snaked his arms around her waist to pull her flush closer. He wanted to feel her, every part of her.

At last, she offered her lips up to his, freely letting him in. He delved with his tongue, tasting her, drinking her in. When she kissed him back with a tentative lick, he groaned against her, squeezing her tighter to him.

Against her lips, he said, "Gods, you madden me, Sansa." He cupped her soft breasts over the fabric of her dress. One, then the other, learning them.

As soon as their lips parted she seemed to come back to her senses.She slapped his hands off of her and shoved him with great force. Startled, he landed on his buttocks.

"What are you doing?" Sansa cried out. " Why did you do that? What's wrong with you?"

She imitated hurt and betrayal very well. Or perhaps the hurt was real; the trouble was, he had no way of telling.

"What…?"

"How could you touch me that way...kiss me and...I'm your sister!" she shouted.

He had to close his eyes because the screams aggravated his building headache.

"You're a bastard through and through. I don't want to see you ever again!" she shouted before darted to the entry of the crypt.

Jon laid there wondering what had just happened.

*********

Jon awoke to find himself alone on the cold ground. In fact, he could just barely see through the curtain of his eyelashes that the entire room was dazzling white with the morning light, much too bright for his bloodshot eyes.

He lay stricken, his hands and forehead clammy with the after effects of the wine and those damn drinks the stables boys had given him. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel nausea rising. He lay very still, just breathing in the healing air that wafted in the small windows at the top of the crypt.

He closed his eyes again and images of the night before flooded his mind, coming like the momentary remembrance of a dream. He saw the party with the maids, remembered in bewilderment the things he heard there and the things he had said. He recalled the fight with Robb, the earthy scent of the crypt when he came down here, and...and...Sansa.

Oh no! No! No! It couldn't be!

She cried but he wouldn't let go.

No! No!

Jon sat up and a sudden jolt of pain surged through his head. He grasped his forehead and reclined back a bit on the ground.

He had to find her and apologise if it wasn't too late. He couldn't think of what had happened between them. It was simply too much to consider what it all meant for him, for Sansa, for father, Robb, Lady Catelyn, for the Gods. He had never felt confusion like this in his life.  
He buried his eyes in the palms of his hands trying to block out the pain in his head.  
Everyone will disown him, they will think him a monster. He couldn't leave this place and face their rage and his undoing.

_I want you to stay by my side, son._

And father, he would never forgive him this base act. Father had shielded him from so much and Jon repaid him with this abomination. He felt sick in his stomach with fear and anger against himself.

After hours of dread and agony, Jon collected the strength to get out of the crypt.

On his way out, he gathered the shattered pearls - the only witness to the unspeakable act that happened here between him and his sister- and lodged them in his pocket.

Jon did not meet recriminations or whispers on his way. Everyone acted as usual. He was almost thankful until it dawned on him that this situation was a ticking blow. Sooner or later, Sansa would tell on him, and rightfully so. He deserved to be punished.

Arya came to him at noon after he'd bathed and put on clean clothes. She wanted to go horse riding after Jon's lessons.

"Don't you have music lessons?" he asked while they took the stairs down to the yard.

"No. Septa Mordane dissolved today's schedule because Sansa is sick."

He stopped still at the mere mention of the name.

"Sick? How...why?" Of course, she was sick, her bastard brother assaulted her. It was sick! He was sick!

Arya shrugged and pulled him off to resume their walk. " She caught cold or something."

Jon swallowed with relief. "Then why did Septa Mordane cancel your lessons? You could take lessons without San----" he cleared his throat. "Your sister"

"You know that she prefers Sansa and how divine her voice sounds," Arya replied with an exaggerated bow. "She doesn't want to deal with me alone."

Jon laughed and played with her hair. She was adorable. The best thing that had ever happened to him. His belly tightened when he realised that he was about to lose her, too.

In the courtyard he found Robb and Theon, laughing at their swordplay. He turned to Arya with a faint smile. "If I survive these two, I will take you and Nymeria to the Wolfwood on Blackfoot's back."

Arya jumped with delight. "Yes! Oh yes! Then you will teach me how to ride like you do."

He shook his head, walking away from her already, maybe for the last time.

Robb walked to him as soon as their eyes met. Jon tried to conceal his discomfort, but he failed miserably. Sansa was the sibling Robb was the closest to, she confided in him all the time. He had to know.

"I'm mad at you, Jon" Robb snapped.

He braced himself for thé hit brother pulled him an embrace instead. "I'm mad because you flew like a girl instead of talking things out with me."

He could only breathe his relief out slowly while Robb squeezed him tighter.

"Robb, are you done kissing the bastard?" shouted Theon from the side of the courtyard.

"Shut up, Theon!" Robb laughed and patted Jon's shoulder. "I hope we are good now."

"We are." Jon gave have a hesitant smile.

Robb smiled back brightly, his blue eyes sparkling with warmth.

"Robb?" Jon called him back when he moved to join Theon. "I'm glad to be your brother."

"You better be!" he laughed. " Now bring your arse here so I can beat you at swords training."

He stepped into the combat area, turning to face Arya. She smiled brightly and waved her support.

Ser Rodrik explained the basis of the day's lesson: _gauge the combat terrain and look for an advantage. Keep your grip open on your sword to allow the connection between your mind and your sword hand to flow. Block the connection if necessary to make a hammer fist._  
_Distribute your weight evenly. Never cross your feet._

When the Master-at-arms was done explaining, the combat area was split in two. Robb had chosen to duel with the master, and so Jon was left with the insipid Ironborn.

“Prepare, bastard! ' Theon grinned, taking a position. He twirled his sword out and around his body in a mesmerising display then dropped the points into the vertical salute.

Theon's sword, angled for slicing, came whirring at his chest. Jon's block was simple: a step of the back leg, a shift of weight, his sword spread in front of him, cutting side slanted down. Theon's blade hit his. The impact resonated through his arm bones, the strain forcing a swarm of bright dots across his vision until Theon's steel slid along his angled edges. Jon pushed down with Theon's momentum, the pain spreading from bones to muscles. Theon was not pulling his blows. All Jon had to do was flip the edge and swing at his throat, but it was forbidden to hit each other's vital points.

Jon sidestepped, twirled his sword in front of him, expecting Theon to reach for his left shoulder to disarm him. Instead, Theon accelerated towards him, his sword high above his head. It wasn't a disarming move. He was going into frontal attack. Jon braced himself, raising his sword just in time. He hit hard against Theon's sword. The Ironborn's rush and pressure on the sword pushed him on the floor. His sword fell next to him. The first round was over.

He won.

Arya let out a shriek of delight and screamed his name. Ser Rodrik glanced appreciatively at him. Jon smiled back at his little sister.

For a moment the stillness of death hung over him. Jon stood in the quiet of its powerful grip, as the spell of the delighted laughter of Arya was broken.

Lady Catelyn walked out on the balcony over the courtyard. Her eyes burned him for a split second then moved onto Robb.

Jon was about to go back to his training when he caught a glimpse of a coppery veil of hair.  
His eyes flew to her before he could compel himself to stop and hide from her.

Sansa emerged from the castle, the other children trailing behind her, like lost ducklings. She stood next to her mother and Jon was struck by the uncanny resemblance.

Sansa looked pale and weak. Jon had heard horrendous stories about bastards but no one ever told him that a kiss from one could actually make someone sick.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Theon pulling himself on his feet and advancing on him. But he kept his attention on Sansa even though Lady Catelyn had now noticed that he was staring at her daughter.

Theon slammed his fists into his jaw, the sound of bone against bone loud in his head. He felt no pain, although the heavy impact knocked him backward. They both staggered, tied together by their iron grip on each other's shirts.

"You are not flaunting now, Bastard!" Theon hissed when his blow connected with Jon's left cheek. Every nerve in his body screamed and told him to fight back, but Sansa was watching him now with a look of utter horror.

He could not present himself under the veil of brutality and violence. She would think the worst of him if it wasn't already the case. So, when the third blow drew blood in his mouth and out of his nostrils, he did not react. He heard Arya's scream of fury as she jumped on Theon's back, gripping his hair to pull him off of Jon.

Robb intervened then, he pushed Theon aside angrily and pressed his hand to his neck. Ser Rodrik caught Arya, and cut her tight grip on Theon's hair but the move only aggravated the situation as Arya pulled Theon's hair with her. He screamed in pain.

From the balcony, Bran threw one of his shoes in the courtyard -- it hit the Ironborn's head sideways-- and knocked him out on the spot. At last, Little Rickon projected his doll at his unconscious body.

Cries, shouts, and shrieks rose from every corners of the courtyard then. The direwolves emerged out of the castle, they barked, jumped and ran after the maids and stable boys-- scaring the horses and awakening the entire castle. For a moment there were nothing but chaos. Winterfell stamped and roared, then it screamed, the hammering of feet on the ground like the fury of the thunder gods ricocheted into Jon's ears painfully. His vision blurred suddenly, he could feel the wetness of the blood that escaped his open arcade. Yet he was still watching her.

Lady Catelyn screamed and ordered Ser Jory and Rodrik to control the kids but Sansa had no reaction. Her eyes glued to his.

_I'm sorry...I'm so sorry!_

She did not react, her complexion became paler than usual. Lady stood by her side watching her wild littermates with quiet indifference as they ran about the courtyard in hysteria. Sansa locked her gaze with his for a moment before turning his back on him. She went back inside the castle.

Robb and Arya had helped him back into his bedchamber wherein he asked them to leave him alone. He sat on the table next to the window watching his bloodied and dirtied hands.

The door opened abruptly. He gasped when he saw Sansa entering his small space in all her glory and fiery magnificence. She closed the door behind her.

He started mumbling apologies but she silenced him with a glare. She walked to his basin, wetted a cloth she was holding. She came back to him and stood in front of him. Jon braced himself for her anger but nothing came.

"Take off your shirt." Her voice was calm yet it filled Jon with fear. This was not normal. She had to be angry with him. He needed her to be.

"Sansa...I don't think you need to do this."

"What you think is not a concern of mine. You made a mess out there and you don't look well now."

Hesitantly, he peered up at her, she was standing between his thighs. It was inappropriate and his guilty mind could not tolerate it. But there was no use in fighting her.  
He winced and tightened his jaw as he removed his soiled shirt. He was shirtless now, with blood, mud, and sweat staining his body.

She wiped the wet cloth down his chest, keeping her focus on cleaning along his breastbone.  
She swept the cloth from his shoulder to wrist, following the long, dense contours of muscle.  
Gently, she lowered her hand past his belly button and back up, bumping and sliding down his burgeoning abs.

He had to bite his tongue to hold back the moan that threatened to burst out of his mouth. He couldn't shame her again.

She soaked and squeezed out another cloth. She opened her fingers under the cloth and spread them on his face, cleaning blood and mud. She lingered on his chin and jaw. Tracing circle motions over his skin.

For his sake, he should close his eyes or keep his attention on something else. Instead, he was drawn to her face. How could she look so serene in this senseless situation? Delicately, she wiped his forehead and then under his eyes, then down on his cheekbones.

She bent closer to him to reach the back of his neck -- and felt the feather flow of her breath against his mouth. The rhythm of her breathing became his. He sensed the colours around them blur, a soft, hypnotic slide toward the unbelieving. For a moment her mouth hung above his, their breaths intermingled. What happened last night between them could it happen again?

He pulled back, ashamed of the impulse. Such an act would be dishonourable.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you,” he said. “I don't even deserve to stand next to you after the shameful thing I did...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry."

She sighed and placed the cloth on the table. She moved away from him. His heart swelled as he thought she was to leave, but she went to sit on his bed instead. She placed her small hands gracefully on her lap. "Dorcas...she told me what happened to you last night,” she said.

"What? No, what I mean is that I can no longer live with myself after what I did. I deserve to be banished and…"

"You went to the servants quarters and feasted with them. You drank all sort of things and got drunk. Hence why you behaved like a depraved fool,” she said calmly.

Her words ricocheted in the room then silenced him.

"Yes...I did. But being drunk doesn't excuse my behaviour. I don't even know why you kept it a secret. I dishonoured you."

 

"I did not keep quiet to protect you. I did it for me. I was so distressed and confused after the things you did…" She closed her eyes and clenched her fist. "I went to find Robb to tell him but I could not bring myself to speak. Even in front of Mother later that night I could not tell her...what happened."

He gulped. He felt like dying for exposing her her to her to such despair. " Why couldn't you?"

"Fear."

"Fear? Were you afraid?"

"Fear that from that confession they'd see the indelible path charting my fall from grace, from an honourable lady to an incestuous wanton."

He shook his head. "No! No! This is on me! You don't get to think of yourself that way. You are...you are perfect."

"I'm not perfect! Nobody can be perfect. Although I study hard and keep myself on my best behaviour to conceal my flaws," she mused.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He wanted to know what he would need to do to earn her forgiveness.

"Why did you kiss me, Jon?" He felt as though he had been hit with hundred arrows.

“I don't know...I guess the liquors and...I don't know."

"That's not an answer. If I have to bear this shameful burden for the rest of my life, I need to know why." Her lips quivered and tears flooded her eyes.

"I can't find the words. I don't know what to say."

"You have to give me an answer, Jon. You gave me my first kiss under such awful circumstances, and it will stay with me forever. I need to know. I need to explain it to myself. It has to make sense so I can live with it. Live with you."

"It's been a long time since the last time I considered you as my sister,” he said. “I know you are, then you are not. The last time we spoke to each other-- really spoke to each other was six moons ago. I don't know you like Robb or Bran do. I don't know the lady you've grown into."

"What…" she seemed at loss for words. " Is it your only reason?"

"I don't know. I was angry at myself for not being good enough to earn your affection. Then I started blaming you for withholding it just because of my status."

Her eyes widened and concern creased her face. "You are always with Arya. You have a sister."

" Sometimes it wasn't enough."

" So you wanted a sister and kissed me to get yourself one?" she asked.

"No. The kiss had nothing to do with that! Gods Sansa, we have become strangers to each other. And there was the thing with Jeyne. In midst of all that confusion, something else took place."

"What?"

"You know." he kept his face down. " You have to know."

The room was silent he could hear the table wincing under his weight. When he looked up again, her face was flushed red and something new gleamed in her eyes.

"Do you remember Aurora? "

He smiled a little. "That little snow bird I caught for you?"

She nodded. "Her mother had died and fell down from her nest, and the little bird was left alone crying to the sky. "

"You wanted it, but Father refused to give it to you because he thought it wouldn't survive without its mother."

"But you went back there, you climbed the tree, and took the bird for me."

He smiled. "You named her and nursed her."

"She was so pretty and her voice in the morning would always wake me up like tinker bells."

"You loved it very much."

"Do you remember how Aurora left us?"

"How could I forget?"

"You and Robb were supposed to guard her cage for me after I had left the hot spring for my lesson. But you did not. You came back to the Keep and left my bird outside. There was a storm that evening. Aurora drowned in her cage."

"Sansa…"

 

"Later that night I found father and mother arguing about you in his study. They did not see me but I heard them. They were talking about this woman that was not Mother. A woman who was not married to father yet she gave him a son. Mother had tears in her eyes. For as long as my younger self could remember, I've only seen warmth in mother's eyes. Even though I did not understand, I knew that I had to be strong and protect her from that woman. I had to protect her from you."

He did not say anything for a very long time.

"Something else happened that night,” he said at last. He walked to her and knelt in front of her.

" After I had realised that Robb left Aurora outside. I went back there, I braved the storm, walked my feet upon cutting objects and bled on my way to the hot spring. I found the cage. Your bird drowned yes, but when I found her she was still alive. I came back to the Keep with her shaking wings in my hands."

" But Robb said…"

"She was dying but I had to bring her to you. I rushed to your bedchamber but Lady Stark found me in front of your door. She scolded me and told me to stay away from your quarters. When I insisted that I had to see you, she took the bird from me and pushed me back to my room."

"I don't understand...are you saying that mother kept her?"

"She probably died right after that episode and Lady Stark had to get rid of her. That being said, I knew you would be sad and I could not wait to reassure you about your bird. But I fell sick. All that bravery took a toll on my body." He smiled a little, she bit her lips to conceal her smile.

"I don't remember things that way."

"I managed to leave my bed only after five days of fever. But when I ran to the great hall to talk to you, you ignored me. It struck me but I tried to think it through. I thought little Sansa was cross with me because I had left her bird outside, but you were friendly with Robb even though he wasn't blameless. You let him hold your hand, pet your hair and play with you. It was just me that was the issue then." His voice cracked

A single tear ran down Sansa's cheek.

"I had no explanation to your change but the competitive side of me would not give up. I thought that Robb had done something so great to win your affection indefinitely, so I had to prove my worth to win you back. "

"Jon…"

"I tried every trick. I was so eager. Until that day when I gave you my morsel of lemon cake and you threw it to the trash pile instead when you thought I wasn't watching. I thought why would she throw away something she is so fond of? And when the response became clear to me it was too late."

"I don't know what to say. I feel sorry for what I did and what you must have felt but I cannot help the way I feel about you….mother... I have to stand by her."

"Don't change who you are. I'm not asking you to accomplish the impossible."

"I know you. Just because I don't talk to you does not mean I don't know you. I'm always watching. I got so good at it." She laughed.

He smiled and the tears he was holding back stumbled down on his face. "When you stand on your tower and watch every move I take, it's scary. You need to stop doing that."

She blushed and sniffed. " Jon, why do you always take Arya to the Wolfwood?”

"I suppose your Lady Watch did not decipher that mystery?" He grinned mischievously.

"Jon!" she warned with humour in her voice. " Tell me."

"I'm teaching her how to ride Blackfoot. ..um. .my horse."

"She knows how to ride."

"Not the right way, just the lady way."

"You would do that? But Septa Mordane said horseriding could break a maiden's…." She colored and shook her head.

"Break what? Her back?" He rolled his eyes.

"Nevermind! "

"Sansa? What is your favourite colour?"

"Tully Blue."

"Oh is that so? And here I thought Purple was your favourite colour."

"It used to be but Septa Mordane said that a lady must cherish her House's colouring. "

" Then gray should be your colour. You are a Stark."

She shook her head. "Too cold, it lacks character, it pales under stronger colouring. And I'm also a Tully. "

"Sansa is it true that you drew Ser Rodrik face so horribly that when Bran and Rickon stole the drawing and showed it to him that he nearly had a heart attack? "

Sansa's eyes widened. She moved so fast, off the bed - to cover his mouth with her hands. "Be quiet! Do not remind me of that unfortunate event!" she snapped.

Jon laughed at her display of mortification.

"Don't mock me! It's not funny, Jon."

But he could not stop. He could remember how Ser Rodrik had chased the offending boys about the castle.

"Also the drawing was only unflattering because I was lacking ink. I had every intention to pay justice to the harmony of his features. But something went wrong."

His waves of laughter downed a little. "It's alright to mess up. At least it made the boys and everyone else laugh."

"Jon, why do you always let Robb best you in the training yard? "

His body stilled for a moment, affected by her proximity. "He is better than me"

She shook her head and moved to place his loose curls behind his ears so she could cling her gaze to his. "Every time he has to train with Ser Rodrik in duel, he takes more time to disarm him or doesn’t succeed at all. But you always do. I've never seen you fail at a duel. Even when you take hits, you always take the win unless it's against Robb."

He was dumbfounded and shook to his every core. He always thought her too silly and preoccupied with pretty things but he was wrong.

"It feels good when Robb win against me. I'm afraid to lose him too, so I make sure to keep him satisfied."

Her eyes widened as if she'd just taped into a sacred secret. "How does it feel to willingly reduce oneself and be small? "

"Not bad! Isn't it the burden of bastards? Our sun is not supposed to shine stronger than your highborn folks."

."I understand."

"What's going on? Why is this door locked? "

They stood up so violently their jaws cracked.

"Open the door, Jon! I wish to talk to you." Lady Stark shouted from the other side of the door.

Sansa let out a sob. She ran away from the door, shaking her head with fright. Jon stared at her and the door.

"Jon don't open the door, please. She will know...she will see. Don't do it." Sansa pleaded with him.

But the banging on the door grew so loud - it grew faster and more violent as the door danced in time with the increasing beat. The room began to sway as the door beat more frantically.

He was afraid. He was seized by all manner of unnamed terrors, but he had to protect Sansa.

Before he really understood what was happening, Jon found himself lying on a cold surface.  
With his heart pumping, he lay back against the rough stone, barely able to fit his large frame into the narrow space. His eyes danced around the ceiling. He did not understand what had happened. One moment he was with Sansa and Lady Catelyn and now he was...He didn't know where he was.

"Your Grace! You awoke!" he heard a familiar voice but he could not name it.

For a moment a red-haired woman stood over him, her hypnotic eyes burning bright as a volcano, but her expression still calm and cool. She raised her arms and spoke in some language he had never heard before. Her voice echoed through the empty chamber as he lay paralysed as a rat caught in a serpent's death spell.

No, he had to go back there where his sister was. He had to protect Sansa...Arya..Bran and Robb.

He moved up and pushed the woman away from him. But the sudden move spun his head.

He fell on the cold wooden floor.

Someone wrapped a fabric over his nakedness but he could not bear to look at whoever it was.

"Bring me back there. Let me go!" he growled. He did not understand. His body was hurting at some places that never contemplated. And the hurt in his chest was the worst.

" Lord Commander, Lady Melisandre succeeded. She brought you back!"

"Where am I?" Hot tears flooded his eyes.

"You are in Castle Black. You are with the Night Watch," replied another familiar voice.

Castle Black? It couldn't be. He was in Winterfell just now with his siblings. This Castle Black couldn't be real. How could he be back here in this place wherein he lost the woman he loved, the place where he met death and the undead? The place where he was betrayed with fifteen blows?

And if he was here, it meant Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon and Sansa, they were all gone.

He was all alone again.

He prompted his damaged body off of the floor.

"Witch, you have to bring me back there. Bring me back to Winterfell," he growled and glared at the Red Woman. He caught her throat and squeezed. Then suddenly there were hands on him, pushing him backward and holding him tight.

"Let me go! Don't want this. Don't want to be here. Winterfell...Winterfell...I should have never left Winterfell!” he cried out.

"Your sister is here, Lord Commander. She stood at your bedside for days, talking to you and telling you stories about Winterfell and your childhood. "

At the words, strength and will failed him. Colours flashed in the darkness of his sense-starved brain. He could barely feel his cold limbs as he relaxed in the arms of the people who were still holding him.

" Sister? Where is she? Is Arya here?"

"Lord Commander, your sister came here from Winterfell, it's Lady Bolton."

"Lady Bolton? Who is that?" he growled.

"It's Lady Sansa. She is waiting for you in the other room.”

He pushed his body free and darted to the door.

" No! Lord Commander you should put on clothes!"

"Jon Snow please could you not embarrass us and your sister in this fashion!"

"But Your Grace, you are naked!" They shouted in unison.

Jon heard their complaints all at once but he did not mind. He had to know that he was not alone.

She sat amidst the fur of his bed with Ghost by her side. Her velvet silver robes wrapped around her shoulders. With eyes as blue and impenetrable as the Shivering Sea, Sansa met his gaze. She gasped and covered her mouth in shock when her eyes dropped on his exposed body.  
Jon went to her then. Like a tired child coming to rest against his mother, he laid his head on her lap and closed his eyes. He felt her stroke back his hair with gentle, nurturing fingers. Her soothing touch erased everything from his mind, leaving it open.

" Home...we are back home, aren't we?"

Her hand stilled in his hair then she cried. " I want you to bring us home, indeed."

 

* * *

 

 

 This is the inspiration for Aurora.  This little birdy is a Korean crow-tit and it looks like a fluffy cotton ball with tiny wings. This little bird also looks like a snowball, like something that could grow in Winterfell.


End file.
